


Acne

by al_coholica



Category: Metallica
Genre: Bullying, Early Eighties, Flirting, Fluff, Heavy Focking Metal, Jealousy, M/M, Parties, Self Confidence Issues, Young Love, i'm back bitches, jaymz needs to know he's loved, not part of little rocker but still cute, these boys love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22695655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_coholica/pseuds/al_coholica
Summary: James sighed heavily as Marcus hungrily gazed Lars, knowing that he didn't stand a chance against Mr. Perfect skin with his pizza face.In other words, James feels self-conscious about his acne.
Relationships: James Hetfield/Lars Ulrich
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	Acne

**Author's Note:**

> What's up motherfuckers, it's ya girl, areyoutalking with another shitty Jars fic! Comments and Kudos are loved, and hopefully I will continue Little Rocker soon. But for now, please enjoy my first Metallica fic of 2020 bitches.

James' teeth sunk into the rim of his red cup, which was drained of precious beer and was now being used as a shield to cover his mouth.

He was still thirsty, very, very thirsty, and the golden liquid pouring from the keg looked mighty refreshing. But going over there and refilling the cup would require taking it away from his face, and that would only cause absolute anguish. There would be bloodshed, the place would get busted by the FBI, he'd go to jail forever, it would go down as the most horrid thing to ever happen in the history of ever. 

James despised acne with a passion. 

Now before you go around calling him a _girl_ , we need to set one thing straight. James Alan Hetfield was a badass, he was a stone-cold crazy metalhead with a heart of steel. Nothing, including fucking acne was gonna bother him any. No sir, he didn't give a shit, he was bulletproof. 

Except...

The blonde looked over to his little Dane from across the room, and his scabbed cheeks turned a light shade of pink. 

He did give a shit, not for him, but for Lars. 

Did Lars give a shit? Did he still love the singer, even if his face was blotched with red? Did he think James was still handsome, or did he think otherwise? Seemed like the mighty James Hetfield wasn't as bulletproof as he thought he was. 

The blonde frowned around the cup brim, there were grooves in it from his teeth, which were clamped down in anxiety. He was thirsty, he was sweaty, there were party-goers glancing at him, the world was crashing and burning, people were running in the streets and stealing mailboxes and cars.

Acne was a piece of shit curse that he of all people were forced to endure. He scowled around his cup and snatched the red piece of plastic from his mouth, storming towards the keg as he glared, _glarefully_ at the floor. He could feel eyes on him, and he wasn't sure if they were staring at him because of his ugly face, or because he was literally charging towards the keg like a pissed off bull.

The beer felt marvelous as it slid down his parched throat, and James sighed into his cup, feeling the crippling anxiety melt away at each gulp. 

Only it came right back when he pulled the red plastic away, and his acne was out in the open for everyone to see. It was horrible. Women and children ran away screaming, men crowded together with pitchforks and torches, shouting 'Kill the beast! Kill the beast!' 

Not really, but still, people apparently couldn't take their eyes away. Who was the motherfucker who invited all these clear-faced snobs anyway? Was Jesus having a party with all his perfect friends?

James chuckled to himself, Jesus probably wouldn't be blasting Motörhead from the busted speakers of an old stereo. As he thought about what else Jesus wouldn't do at a party, the singer shuffled to an unoccupied couch (by unoccupied, meaning there was no one trying to make a baby on it) and plopped down, his plastic cup wrapped up in an uninterested grasp. 

Since he probably never gonna talk to anybody here, he might as well enjoy the view, the view being Lars. 

His round face was bursting at the seams with a bright smile, feathered hair wet with sweat, eyes burning with excitement. He did what he was the master at, which was blabbering uncontrollably to anyone who was listening. Every time he started that cute shit with James, the singer would shut him up with a kiss. The blonde felt a twinge of anger at the thought of some random moron in that circle kissing Lars to shut him up. 

Of course, he himself couldn't blame one of them if they did kiss his Dane. That big mouth of his was very kissable, except, if anybody other than the tall singer kissed that big mouth, they'd probably die. 

As Lars let out a laugh, James swallowed down another sip of beer to calm his pounding heart. 

He loved that silly little drummer, as much as his macho, 'fuck you' personality hated to admit it, he loved that Danish twat with all his heart. 

He was too busy with his own thoughts to notice a body plop down next to him and engage in his stare fest. 

"Fuck, I'd like to get my hands on that." The guy said, a smug grin apparent in his deep- and by deep, James was pretty sure he sounded like a twelve-year-old girl compared to this guy- voice. It was an uncomfortably soothing voice, like one of those background voices in a shitty pop song that always said something along the lines of 'I wanna make you mine, baby' or 'I've always wanted a girl just like you baby.'

James turned, uninterested, towards the source of the oddly sexual vocal cords, and ho-ly shit. 

Dark hair stood spiked on the top of his head, there was enough gel in it that both James and Lars could turn their long, flowing manes into solid concrete. His even darker eyes shined in the shitty lamp lights, glistening with alcohol and raw, pure, 100% organic lust. Oh yeah, you heard right folks, this guy was horn-y. 

Not only was he horny, his jawline could decapitate James in about -3 seconds. His long limbs were lean, he was possibly a drummer. James shook his head, not with legs that long. He was head to toe in solid black, which made his skin an ivory- cream color. 

The worst part about him, the part that made James instantly hate him, was his clear, untouched face. Not a single zit or pimple. Spic and span. Completely perfect skin.

James frowned deeply, his blue eyes clouding with angry tears. 

_Why me?_

"Huh?" he asked instead, his voice echoing off the walls of his cup as he tipped it for another sip. His eyes traveled over the large group, where he could see many girls with huge tits and large hair. They were pretty, but not really his type. Maybe this guy was staring at the blonde one with an ass for days and a waist so tiny you could wrap both hands around it and your fingers would overlap each other. 

The guy glanced at him and let a friendly, not at all horny smile spread across his face as he held out his hand. 

"Hey man, that wasn't much of an introduction. Name's Marcus."

_I literally couldn't care less you doll-faced swine._

"How's it going?" James asked, ignoring Marcus' hand intentionally. Metalhead's don't _shake_ hands, was this guy insane? Marcus seemed to get the hint and take his hand away before glancing back to the group.

"Real good, just checking out that hot piece of ass, man. It can be so fucking unreal how sexy people can be, ya know?" 

"Sure."

"You in a band?"

James nodded halfheartedly, a finger going up to scratch a scab on his chin. The dark-headed man took notice and studied the blondes face intently. It was a mere second or so before he spoke up again, as if he glitched and rebooted up, like a freaky cyborg. 

"You know," he began, "Your face is gonna scar up real bad if you keep picking at it." 

The singer scowled at him, his beer began to tremble in his hand. He took a seething sip, glaring at the unclogged-faced bastard next to him. 

"Did I fucking ask, asshole?" He hissed. Marcus held his hands up in defense, his face twisted into mock shock. Motherfucker.

"Whoa, man! Take it easy, buddy. I'm just saying that you're gonna have scars if you keep tearing your face apart. Anyways, what band you in?" He asked, using his no-good charm to get out of the hole he was quickly digging himself into. James looked away back at Lars, who was listening intently to a curly-headed guy talking about a band he was in back when he lived in Chicago.

He felt his anger melt away the longer he looked at the Dane, and the singer felt a smile tug at the ends of his mouth. 

"Hellooo, blondie?"

The anger was back, and James felt like breaking the fingers that were snapping in his face. 

"What?" He spat. Marcus rolled his eyes. The douche.

"What band are you in?"

The singer took another sip, and then took another glance at Lars. _Everything was going to be okay, calm down, Hetfield._

"Metallica."

The motherfucker who owned the name Marcus let out a quick chuckle, the couch shook as he laughed. 

“The hell kind of name is ‘Metallica?’” He asked, making James clench his fist.

_Look at Lars, take a sip, get up, do **something** moron. _

“What the fucking kind of name is Marcus? Your parents hate you or something?” 

"Holy shit man, I was just fucking joking."

James didn't say anything back, just pursed his lips and let himself silently stew in his anger. He had no desire to fight, not when his face was so acne-ridden that a punch to the face would cause a fuck-ton of unbelievable amounts of pain and otherwise fuck his face up for good. Besides, this guy, this since-my-face-is-clear-and-I-could-fuck-any-person-I-want-to-in-this-room jackass was not worth it. 

If Marcus wanted a fight, he was going to have to pick on someone with only half a brain and a belly full of beer. 

"I saw him first, you know."

The singer blinked, turning towards the fuckwad that was still sitting next to him with furrowed brows. Marcus, in return, was glaring at James with such hatred that he could melt his face off. 

_Well that would take care of my acne problem real quick, there would be no face for it to be on._

"The fuck you talking about?" He asked, "Saw who?"

Marcus pointed his finger towards the group, which was now only withered down to a few people. All the girls were gone, probably to go 'occupy' a couch, and only dudes stood, hands grasping beers, sweat staining Iron Maiden and Venom t-shirts. James furrowed his brows even more, not seeing anyone who would catch the eye of the dick sitting next to him. 

"Who are you pointing to?" He helplessly asked, causing Marcus to scoff and yank him towards his face. James focused on where the pointer finger was directed at, his eyes slowly uncrossing as he did. Marcus was pointing at-

Oh.

_Oh no._

The blonde felt the warm beer in his stomach turn into a rock hard chunk of ice, and his heart dissolved in his chest. 

Marcus was pointing at Lars. He was staring at Lars, touching him all over with his eyes. The thought made the singer want to rip his head off. 

First, Mr. High-and-mighty picks on him for scratching his face, then he insults his band name, now he has the audacity to point at his Dane and call him hot. Only _he_ could call Lars that, not fuckwad over here. 

But, as he saw his wobbly reflection in his beer, he felt his heart sink. Who was he kidding? As soon as Lars takes a look at this guy, it'll be all over between the two. No more Hetfield and Ulrich, no more anything. James could see it now, so vividly. He'd be in a bar, sulking, mourning over his loss. He'd stumble into the alley next to the bar and wither away into nothing, all because acne decided to show up now.

Why couldn't it come and go when Lars was still in Denmark? That way, James wouldn't be suffering from it so severely now. 

"Oh yeah, that was me in middle school, look at my major pizza face." He'd laugh when Lars was flipping through his old yearbooks, and the Dane would laugh with him. But no, his face was clear in middle school, and he had nothing to laugh about now. 

James sighed heavily as Marcus hungrily gazed at Lars, knowing that he didn't stand a chance against Mr. Perfect skin with his pizza face. 

"Oh fuck," Marcus said, absentmindedly hitting the singers bicep excitedly, "He's coming over. Back off, crater face, don't even look at him." He warned, smoothing his concrete hair quickly.

James merely blinked and said nothing, his heart giving a painful twist in his chest. 

Lars, with a worried smile on his face, came over to the two men on the couch. He'd seen the man next to James say something to him, and then his singers shoulders sank. What the fuck did this guy say to make his James so upset. 

"Hey there," cooed the dark-headed man, his smile smug, his eyes hungry. Lars blinked at him before turning to James, causing Marcus to frown. 

"Min skat..." Lars murmured before settling himself across James' lap. He slung an arm across the blonds shoulders and began to play with his hair. "Why the long face?" 

James, in return, linked an arm around the Danes waist and rested his head against Lars' cheek. He remained answer-less, the overwhelming urge to just leave was strong and hot. 

"Hold it!" Marcus exclaimed, his face twisted into a scowl, "You know this guy?" 

Lars gave a chuckle and nodded, a proud look on his face as he kissed James' forehead. 

"Yep, he's my boyfriend," his emerald eyes darkened a bit, and he glared at the dark-headed twat, "What's it to ya, blockhead?" 

James smiled into Lars' neck upon hearing the insult, his heart giving a delightful jump in his chest. Marcus did have kind of a blockhead with that hard hair. 

"Well... I..." Marcus’ mouth opened and closed, like a fish on land, his eyes going back and forth between the Dane and the Singer. “You could do so much better than pizza face over here!” 

James’ face turned hot, his fist clenched in Lars’ shirt tightly. He was 99% sure he was seeing red, and his anger was at an all time high. He was too steaming to notice Lars snatching his beer from his hand.

"Say that again asshole." Growled the Dane. 

Marcus blinked, James sat seething, all was quiet between the three.

"He’s ugly. He’s nothing but an ugly zit bag." 

Lars threw the beer into Marcus’ face, his eyes burning with anger. James, sad that his beer was wasted on this dickwad, blinked up at the Dane in shock. If he wasn't so love-struck, he'd join in the fun and ram his fist into the blockheads nose. 

Marcus, however, did not find Lars' act heroic and hot. He sputtered, his eyes clenched shut as he wiped at them with angry fists. 

"You _bitch_!" He shouted, erupting from the couch, causing everyone to stare over at the trio. "You fucking snot-nosed brat!" 

"Hey now," James said, a smile spread across his face for the first time that night, "No one calls my Dane a snot-nosed brat except me. Darling, please move."

Lars grinned and happily slid off the singers lap, letting the tall blond to stand to his full height in front of Marcus. They were about the same height, only the man currently being blinded by beer was about an inch taller. Oh yeah, with puny arms like that, James could take this stick no problem. 

"Nighty-night, motherfucker." He grinned before launching his fist right across Marcus' cheek. 

The walk home (by home meaning motel) was quiet. James and Lars' hands remained tightly interlaced the whole way there, the crickets and darkness both calming them from their oh-so-fun fight. Well, it wasn't much of a fight, only Lars had to do a lot of restraining, and James just mostly did a lot of shoving.

Once Mr. Marcus had been socked one, he halfheartedly tried to back hand James, which only resulted in the singer ducking and shoving the blockhead until he was out the door. Lars wouldn't let James get too violent with the poor nitwit, they didn't want to spend the rest of the night in jail. 

But their heroic fight got them applause and pats on the back, as the pencil-necked goth (they later found out he was one of those weird gothic guys who like, drank goat blood or something) was bothering literally almost everyone that night. James smiled to himself, and he absentmindedly gave Lars' hand a squeeze. 

"Tonight was fun." The Dane said, his voice dull, deadpan. "Look at us, kicking ass, being super cool, fuck, I think we might take a ride on the orgasmatron just to seal the deal, eh?" He asked, a small, mischievous smile on his face as he bumped shoulders with the taller boy. James merely hummed in response, his face now crestfallen with a grim frown. The Dane immediately noticed and stopped in his tracks, his smile gone, a look of worry rooted deep in his big green eyes. "James?"

"Yeah?" 

"That dude, ol' fuckface back there, I saw him say something to you before I came over..." 

James blinked. A dog barked off somewhere in the distance, a car with a noisy muffler drove by on a wayward street, the crickets seemed to be listening to their conversation, because they were dead silent. 

"What about it?" The blond asked, smudging a discarded cigarette butt against the pavement with his duck-taped sneaker. 

"What did he say?" 

"Nothing..." 

The dog barked again, the only small sounds they could hear was their breathing. James kept his eyes down, his cheeks, scabbed and scarred, burned a dark red. 

"Bullshit 'nothing,' now what did he say?" Pressed Lars, his voice steadily rising against the quiet darkness around them. It wasn't like James to take shit from people, and it certainly wasn't like him to not open up about it. Sure, he would do it in anger, or after a round of sex he'd open up about what someone said that pissed him off. But it wasn't like him to completely shut down and not tell the drummer at least a little bit of what was bothering him. Whatever Marcus said, it cut deep, deeper than Lars had ever seen. He felt uneasy, and he wasn't sure why.

He and James had been an item for about two years now, so he'd seen everything. He'd seen loud, macho man James with the attitude of a god, slamming beers and performing riffs and getting into fist fights. He'd seen quiet, softer James, who would lay in bed next to him on a day off, looking at magazines of new coming bands and just talking absentmindedly with him. He'd seen angry James, his least favorite, smashing the wall with his fists and angrily cussing out anyone and everyone who would listen. He'd seen sad James, who would sometimes, during dark, cold nights, talk about his mom, talk about how much he missed her.

But this James, this was a side of the singer he'd never seen before. If he could pinpoint it correctly, he'd say...

Doubtful, scared, miserable. 

This will not do.

James blinked up at him, big blue eyes glistening in the dim light of a nearby streetlamp. No sir, this _will not_ do.

"Why are you with me?" He asked, voice trembling, lips quivering as if he was going to break down and cry. "Look at me, Lars, look at my fucking face. Why are you with me?"

"What's wrong with your face?" Lars asked, his eyebrows furrowing, tone of voice high-pitched with curiosity.

"The fucking acne Lars!" Snapped James, his tone angry, eyes now burning hot. His hands shook at his sides, his breathing was ragged and uncontrollable. 

Lars blinked, the realization finally clicking. Marcus, his clear skin, his snotty attitude, the fight. 

Marcus said something about James' acne. 

"Look at it! Look at me! How could you ever love something so-"

"So what, James? So handsome? So beautiful? I don't know, min kære, probably because you're the only hot guy within a fifty mile radius of here. Probably because you're the only guy who actually cares about me, you're the only guy I trust with my life. You're the only man I want to marry, and have a shit ton of kids with, and when we grow old and grey I'm still gonna look at you and think, 'holy fuck, look at what I married!'" Lars paused and reached out to grabbed James' shaking hands. "James, it's just _acne._ Everyone suffers from it at least once in their life, just because you have it doesn't I'm gonna leave you over it. I _love_ you."

"But- but look at _you..."_

"What about me? I've got a big forehead and I can't grow a mustache worth shit, and yet you're still here." 

James let out a small laugh, his hands gripping tight at Lars’. He pulled the Dane into a tight hug, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck. The crickets began to cheer, the sounds of night life started back up again. Lars pulled away and placed his hands on the sides of James’ face, his thumbs caressing the acne scars tenderly, and pulled the singer into a chaste kiss. 

"You're pretty." The Dane smiled when he pulled away, his hands still on the blonds face, which was now burning hot under his touch. "But don't ever think for one moment that you aren't, and don't ever doubt it again or I will fight you." 

"Oh yeah," James laughed, "Like _you_ could fight _me._ " 

Lars took his hands from the singers face and placed them on his hips, his expression a scowl. 

"Hey! I'm not that blockhead back there! I could fight you if I wanted to, blondie." He snapped, holding his fist up. James just giggled and pulled Lars in by his wrists. 

"Yeah, whatever you say, you snot-nosed brat." He murmured before leaning in for another kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> another note, i know this sucks major ass but this took fuckin forever because i have to get an education and its hard to do this and learning about useless bullshit at the same time. but thanks for reading i guess.


End file.
